Pilate's Wife

by Antoinette May

  Just beyond Caiaphas, another form came into view. “Oh!” I gasped softly. There was something so familiar…If only I could see him more clearly. I turned to my husband. “Caiaphas is an evil man, but there is someone else…”

  “Another enemy?” Pilate leaned forward, grasping my hand.

  “I cannot see him, he is just beyond my sight, but I feel that he is not an enemy. There is kindness—more than kindness. Someone who could…change the world. He is nothing like Caiaphas…” Foreboding gripped my heart. I knew without knowing that the shapes I barely saw held significance far beyond our lives. Pilate and I were as nothing in this grand scheme, yet I sensed a terrible drama waiting to engulf us. As the hidden form moved toward me, I saw the crown of thorns.

  “Oh, Pilate, stay away from him!” I pleaded. “You must avoid that man at any cost. There will be trouble, terrible trouble. Your good name will be…mixed up with him in some awful manner. Stay away from him. You must not be involved in any way between Caiaphas and this stranger.”

  My husband watched anxiously, fear in his eyes. “Who is this man who would change the world?” Pilate shook his head impatiently. “He sounds like just another one of those maniacal zealots.”

  “I don’t know who he is.” I was almost sobbing.

  “Then look—look deeper!”

  The visions were shifting. I struggled to make sense of them. Despite the sultry evening, a chill raised bumps on my arms. A man alone, praying in a garden. Swords. A cross. No! I had seen enough of death. I turned away. “All I know, Pilate, is that a dreadful tragedy lies in wait for that good man and you are in some way part of it.”

  “But who is this man?” Pilate persisted.

  Slowly the vision faded, and I was left only with a vague impression. “I…think he is a Galilean.” I was exhausted, all my force gone.

  “I might have known! They’re nothing but trouble. Even here in Jerusalem, where the Temple hierarchy keeps people in line, the Galileans are rebellious—always searching for a messiah. They question everything, even their own god.”

  I tried to reassure him, “Are they not just a simple country people?”

  Pilate shook his head, frowning. “Not really. Nazareth is on the caravan route between Alexandria and Antioch. Galileans hear the latest news before Jerusalem.”

  “But I am told they are mostly fishermen.”

  “Don’t imagine them as a few men in little boats fishing for dinner. Most of the dried fish for our garum sauce comes from Galilee. They supply much of the world.”

  I nodded absently, calmer now, my thoughts far removed from fish. Once Pilate’s concern for my opinions would have made me the happiest woman alive. Now it saddened me. The only attention I longed for was Holtan’s, and he was far away.

  CHAPTER 32

  Herod’s Palace

  When Pilate announced a holiday in Tiberius, I winced.

  “A city named for the man I hate most in the world!”

  “It’s an official visit, I want you with me.” His voice softened, “There’s something more. It will please you and so will the town. You have my promise.”

  To my surprise, he was right. Devout Jews professed to fear the city, for it was built on the site of an ancient graveyard. Partly to overcome their aversion, partly to show the world what he could do, Herod the Great’s heir, Herod Antipas, had created a showplace.

  When our party reached the sparkling new enclave built on the shores of Galilee, I looked about in wonder. Tiberius was a city of great beauty with broad streets, splashing fountains, and marble statues. The pavements glistened. I could smell the raw odor of fresh-cut building stones and above us the sky, not yet shaded by canopies or trees, shone bright blue. “I have never seen anything like it!” I told Pilate. “The bath, the forum, the theater, even the marketplace—they are all so clean.”

  “Herod spared no expense,” Pilate explained. “He can afford it. He taxes his people to the limit.”

  Pilate too had spared no expense. His surprise gift to me was a splendid seaside villa that reminded me, as he knew it would, of our first home in Antioch. I marveled dutifully over the frescoed walls. Nymphs, satyrs, cupids frolicked in joyous abandon. My husband was trying to regain my heart.

  “Do you like it?” he asked, his eyes on mine. “The colors—”

  “Jupiter’s palace could not be livelier or more grand.” Forcing a smile, I surveyed my apartments. A profusion of pinks, purples, and soft oranges reflected the riotous blooms outside, softening the effect of the high vaulted chambers. It should have been a happy room. I hated it. “Charming,” I murmured, moving away from him onto the parapet. Below me was a graceful marble path twining through terraced lawns to the water’s edge where an ornate barge awaited our pleasure.

  Pilate followed me out onto the parapet. “We spent many happy hours on a barge like that,” he reminded me.

  “A long time ago.”

  “Not so very long.” He took my hand. “The barge will be waiting for us when I return.”

  “You are going away?” I tried not to sound relieved.

  “Yes, I must, but not for long. I’ve business with Herod. There’s been another demonstration in Jericho, something must be done about those Zealots. There’s one—Barabbas—who incites them to insurrection. Barabbas won’t rest until the last Roman is out of here—foolish man. We’ll get him this time.”

  AS THE FADING SOUNDS OF PILATE’S CHARIOT ECHOED DOWN THE ROAD, I felt a reprieve and almost ran from the house that had begun already to feel like a prison. “Take me out on the lake,” I ordered the slave master waiting beside the boat. “Have them row as fast as they can.”

  “Where to, Domina?” he asked, assisting me into the craft.

  What did it matter? “To—to the next town, any town.”

  “The next town is Magdala, Domina.”

  Magdala? Was that not Miriam’s town? How had it turned out for her? I wondered absently. Had she found the man I had seen in my vision? Perhaps they were together now. Maybe I could find them.

  Within moments the barge was under way. I lay back on silken cushions, listening to the rhythmic sweeps of the oars. My eyes shifted restlessly from one lavish villa to another.

  Encircled by mountains blue as sapphires, the lake possessed a startling beauty. I thought of Holtan as the line of lakeside villas gave way to groves of olives, flocks of sheep, and lush vineyards. Though it had been more than a year since I had last seen him, the memories remained vivid as ever. Again and again he smiled as the Triumphant boy gladiator, held out his palm for me to read at Apicata’s banquet, splashed beside me in his pool. He was never out of my thoughts, no matter how hard I tried to forget. The yearning was so great, sometimes I wished that I might die. How much longer could I go on living with one man and loving another?

  Lost in thought, I scarcely noticed the landscape change. Isolated, tumbledown shanties now dotted the shoreline and a stench filled the air. As the outskirts of town slowly took shape, the odor grew more pervasive. “What is this place?” I asked my steward.

  “Magdala, Domina.”

  “Ugh!” I exclaimed wrinkling my nose. “Why does it smell so terrible?”

  “Fish-drying platforms, Domina. The catch is brought here from all over the lake to be dried and salted.”

  Nodding absently, I reached for my pouch and extracted a small perfume vial. The excursion had gone sour. What point was there in going on, what point was there in anything?

  “Turn around. We will return to Tiberius,” I directed, holding the vial to my nose.

  As the slaves slowly brought the barge about, my glance traveled along the dock where fishermen’s nets were spread, a damp mass of woven cords and twine. Many of the fishermen had pulled off their sodden tunics, their body smell competing with nearby platforms where flayed fish dried in the sun.

  Just beyond, I noticed the slender figure of a woman standing alone near a row of massive amphoras waiting transport. Curious, I looked again
at the long silky hair bright as copper in the sunshine. Could it be?

  “Stop!” I ordered my men. “Take me to the shore.” When the barge reached the shallow water, a slave lifted my friend across the small waves and into the boat. I hugged Miriam eagerly, then held her back at arm’s length. “I hoped I might find you here, but I must say Magdala comes as a surprise.”

  Miriam shrugged. “It is not so bad once you are accustomed to it.”

  “Accustomed to it!” I looked about at the fish-drying platforms. “If garum comes from this, I will never look at fish stew again.”

  “It does,” Miriam nodded vaguely. She seemed strangely subdued, not as excited as I would have expected by the surprise encounter. Standing beside me at the railing, she looked thinner than I remembered. “People once grew rich catching and processing fish here. That is my parents’ home.” She pointed to a large villa dominating the hill high above town.

  “Very grand.”

  “It was grand. The courtyard has some of the most beautiful mosaics that I have seen anywhere—though you might not care for the subject matter. Fish, fishermen, boats—a shrine to the business that made our family fortune.”

  “Why do you say was—was grand?”

  “Herod Antipas takes a third of everything—grapes, barley, olives, livestock, and, of course, dried fish—that’s after the Temple’s 10 percent. Every day I hear of someone who has lost a family farm or business. Tax collectors confiscate them when the owners can’t pay. All that my parents have left is a villa crumbling to ruin.”

  Herod’s taxes, Temple taxes, and, finally, Rome’s taxes. What could I say? Changing the subject, I ventured, “It must be wonderful to be with your family again.”

  Miriam looked at me questioningly. “I thought my story was known to all.” When I shook my head, she lowered her eyes.

  “Tell me as much or as little as you like,” I said, gesturing for her to sit beside me under the purple canopy.

  “Years ago my family arranged a marriage for me,” Miriam explained in a tight, controlled voice. “They were pleased; my betrothed’s people were wealthy and prominent. I was happy too; he was young and handsome. I counted myself fortunate until the wedding caravan taking me to Jerusalem was set upon by bandits. Their leader beat me, forced me. It was the last thing my brothers saw…”

  Miriam took a deep shuddering breath. “The brigands were arguing over who would be next with me when a troop of Roman soldiers appeared. They killed most of the bandits and drove off the rest. Theodosius Sabinus, their centurion, offered to send me on to Jerusalem with an armed guard but my father would not hear of it. A wedding was unthinkable. My parents turned from me. I had disgraced them.”

  I put my arms around Miriam. “How terribly unfair. What did you do?”

  Miriam turned away, staring out over the lake. “There was nothing I could do. No one spoke up for me. The centurion signaled to one of his men to put me in a wagon and we started off. I was terrified. I had never been more than a mile from home. Hours later someone lifted me out. I stood, bruised and bleeding, on the threshold of Theodosius’s villa in Caesarea. Everywhere I looked I saw frescoes—nymphs, satyrs. Did people really do those things? Would the Roman expect me to do them? I shuddered as he approached me, but when he raised his hand it was merely to examine my bleeding head wound. A nod from Theodosius and two female slaves led me to a beautiful room overlooking the sea. It was mine, they said. They brought food, bathed me, dressed me for bed, and left.”

  The purple canopy flapped lazily in the breeze as we floated downstream. Spellbound I watched Miriam as her story unfolded.

  “Every night I lay trembling, waiting for Theodosius to call for me. The Romans were brutes—everyone said so. I thought of casting myself into the sea, but lacked the courage. Then one night Theodosius called me to the triclinium. It was a pleasant place—bright frescoes depicting sea nymphs at play, the fourth wall open to the sea. White spray splashed against rocks below us while musicians played. Theodosius explained that he had been away the past week. Speaking pleasantly, as though I were a guest in his home rather than a captive, he apologized for neglecting me. Was the room to my liking, how was the food? He did not ask me to share his couch, gesturing instead to the one adjacent.

  “As we feasted, Theodosius asked questions about my life in Magdala. Was I much saddened by the loss of my husband-to-be? I confessed that I had seen him only once from a distance. ‘Ah, an arranged marriage.’ He smiled a little sadly. After a moment, he explained that he and his wife had allowed their oldest daughter to select her own husband. ‘Friends advised against it,’ he said, ‘Now I wonder if they might have been right.’

  “Theodosius spoke often of his wife and children in Rome. By the end of the evening I no longer feared him. The business between a man and a woman was not unpleasant. Theodosius thought I had a talent for it. He counted himself lucky, but now I realize that I was the lucky one. Pleasing a man on his couch was easy, but Theodosius also wanted a companion. He had me tutored in Greek and Latin, introduced me to philosophy and literature. By the time his tour of duty was over, Theodosius had grown fond of me. I returned with him to Rome. There were problems with his wife—inevitable, I suppose—but many were eager to take his place as my ‘protector.’”

  “Perhaps,” I ventured, “you are better off…”

  “I have always thought so.”

  “But now,” I said, looking back at the hills of Magdala, “you have reconciled with your parents. How happy you must be.”

  Miriam shook her head. “You do not understand our ways. Because brigands had ruined me, my parents sat with ashes on their heads for three days as though I were dead.”

  “But that was so long ago. Surely now—”

  She smiled wryly. “Now should have been perfect. Rufus, my latest protector, died two months ago of a fever. He left no family. His estate went to me—all duly recorded with the Vestals.” Miriam sighed wearily. “I returned to Magdala filled with joy, thinking of all that I could now do for my parents. As I climbed the hill, I imagined that we could go back to the way we were—a happy loving family.”

  Her large eyes filled with tears. “Their one remaining slave, my old nurse, would not even allow me into the atrium. I pounded until finally a face appeared at an upper window. It was my mother—my mother—she—” Miriam broke off sobbing. “She gave orders. I could hear her. ‘If that whore shows up here again, stone her.’”

  Again, I put my arms around Miriam, and stroked her back. “My dear, my dear, what can I say?”

  “There is nothing that anyone can say.” She pulled away, wiping her eyes, and looked at me. “Claudia, I have liked and admired many men, but loved none. At the Villa of Mysteries, you prophesied that I would find my true love here in Galilee. Instead, I have found only despair. My parents would rather I had died in the desert than live the only life open to me. The people in Magdala who praised and petted me as a child now view me with contempt. I should return to Rome, pick up the threads of my life. Every day I think I will make the arrangements, but sometimes I am too exhausted to even rise from my sleeping couch. It is as though a devil sat on my chest.”

  I nodded, recognizing her depression. “Not one devil—at least seven. When I lost my first child and later when my sister was executed, I, too, lay day after day upon my couch. It was as though I lived always in twilight. People spoke to me but I would barely hear them, did not want to hear them.”

  “Yes, that is how it is.” She nodded. “This is the first day I have ventured out of the inn. A slave had to do everything for me. I could hardly step into my sandals. Walking to the sea was so hard, I had to stop several times. It seemed so far.”

  “That settles it!” I exclaimed “You are coming back to Tiberius with me. My men will get your things. You must stay at our villa.”

  Miriam smiled wanly. “I would not be very good company.”

  “I am not inviting ‘company,’” I said, giving her a little
hug. “For once you need please no one. Sleep, read, lie out on the terrace under the sunshade. No one will bother you. When you are ready, I will be there. We can explore Tiberius together. It is a beautiful city.”

  “That sounds very pleasant…” Miriam considered for a moment, then shook her head. “Perhaps later. There is someone I must see first.”

  “Who can it be?” I asked.

  “A holy man, many say a prophet.”

  “That does not sound like you.”

  “This man is different. Everywhere I go people talk of him, some even believe him to be the messiah. Surely a mystic who has cured madmen—raving lunatics—can raise the awful blackness that surrounds my soul. The old life now seems meaningless. What am I to do with myself?” Miriam looked at me, her large green eyes rimmed with red.

  “Go to your holy man,” I surprised myself by saying. Unlikely as it sounded, her pilgrimage felt right to me. “Come to Tiberius afterward. Who knows, if he helps you, perhaps I will go to him myself. I would do anything to be rid of the awful dreams that torment me. They grow worse with every passing night.”

  I THOUGHT OFTEN OF MIRIAM IN THE MONTHS THAT PASSED, WORRIED about her. Then came a diversion I could never have imagined. It began with an invitation. Herod Antipas was celebrating his birthday with a banquet. I had met the flamboyant puppet king briefly in Caesarea and was curious to see his new palace in Galilee, more curious to meet his wife. Tales of Herodias had even reached Rome.

  HEROD’S PALACE WAS, I WAS AMAZED TO DISCOVER, LARGER THAN Tiberius’s. Each room possessed a violent, almost savage quality of its own. No human being had a chance of feeling important among the wild animal skins, crimson drapes, mirrored ceilings, and surging fountains. Pet cheetahs roamed at will, making me particularly uneasy, yet I saw that Herod and his queen delighted in the crude, boisterous beauty that surrounded them.